


The Line Connecting You To Me To Us

by watanuki_sama



Category: Common Law
Genre: Bittersweet, F/M, M/M, Multi, Post-Divorce, Sex, Sex-No Explicit Descriptions, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 00:45:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4808465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watanuki_sama/pseuds/watanuki_sama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing that brought them together was always Wes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Line Connecting You To Me To Us

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on FF.net on 09.15.15 under the penname 'EFAW'.

_“But the truth is, to have it halfway is harder than not having it at all.”_   
_—Unknown_

\---

Twice a month, they get together, to go have coffee or grab lunch with each other. It’s nothing illicit—Alex and Travis are friends, and they’ve continued to be friends even after she and Wes split up, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with getting together with her friend.

It _feels_ illicit, though. It feels like she and Travis are hiding something, even though it’s just coffee every other week. And it’s stupid, it’s not like she and Travis are even _doing_ anything. Just sitting there talking.

But Wes doesn’t know. Alex spends an hour every other week sitting with her ex-husband’s partner, and Wes doesn’t know. _That_ makes it feel illicit, like somehow she’s skulking behind Wes’s back and taking advantage. Alex doesn’t know if Travis feels the same way she does—if Travis feels like he’s doing something wrong, if he’s somehow cheating on Wes by meeting up like this, or if it’s just her.

She doesn’t mention it.

\---

“I miss you.”

Travis’s hand pauses, coffee cup halfway to his mouth, and one eyebrow goes up. “You miss me?”

Alex sighs, resting her chin on her hand. “Not just _you_. We meet up often enough. And not just Wes, either, he comes over all the time to water the lawn and take care of the house. I just…I miss _you_ , and us, and being together. The three of us. The way it used to be.”

It always stings a little, to think about _the way it used to be_. Because they’re not like that anymore, and they can never be like that again. She sees the same flicker of nostalgic pain cross Travis’s face as well.

He slowly brings his coffee up to his mouth and takes a sip, stalling. Or perhaps just letting the ache fade a little.

When he lowers his cup, he breathes out a wistful, “Me too,” soft enough she almost thinks she imagined it.

\---

They used to spend entire evenings together, the three of them, once or twice a week. It was rarely planned; Travis would end up riding home with Wes, and instead of leaving after an hour or two he’d stay for dinner and beyond. They’d all settle down, Alex curled up against Wes on the couch and Travis sprawled in the armchair, and they’d just talk, about anything from politics to television shows to funny things they saw during the day.

They rarely talked about work. It was the elephant in the room—talking about police work would always remind Alex too sharply of how much his new career bothered her, and talking about Alex’s work would hammer home too deeply that Wes was no longer a lawyer. Talking about work always brought out the worst, and was always the one guarantee to end the night early, on a sour note.

But when they were talking about anything else, oh, time flew by. One minute they’re settling in and the next, it’s almost midnight and they all have work in the morning. She can still remember them all laughing about something or other, and the house was warm and bright with mirth.

The get-togethers faded toward the end, until they stopped completely, and Alex hasn’t heard her house so full of warmth and life since long before the divorce was finalized.

\---

“How’s Wes?” she asks, hands wrapped around her coffee cup. She doesn’t sound as casual as she wishes; she’s still much too invested in her ex-husband’s wellbeing.

Just because they’re divorced doesn’t mean she can’t care.

Travis shrugs around a mouthful of sausage-stuffed something-or-other. “ ‘e’s a’ight. Y’know.” Alex glares sharply at him; he swallows and grins. “Did you know you two glare the exact same way?”

“If you didn’t talk with your mouth full,” she says evenly, “you wouldn’t get glared at.”

“You even say that the same!” he laughs, leaning back in his seat. He takes a sip of his own coffee, still grinning. “No, but seriously. Wes is good. He’s…” He shrugs. “Wes.”

Alex makes a small noise in her throat. “And what, pray tell, does being _Wes_ entail?”

“You know.” Travis waves a hand. “He’s still the same old finicky bastard we know and love. Still does the thing with the hand sanitizer.”

“Travis,” Alex says patiently, the way she’s said it a thousand times, “no matter how many times you hide his Purell, he’s still going to do the thing with the hand sanitizer.”

“I know.” Travis sighs and takes a mournful bite of his wrap. “It’s just annoying. I’m starting to smell like Purell even after I walk away from him. I think it’s seeping into my pores.”

And really, Alex can’t help but laugh.

A few minutes later, after Travis has finished off his wrap, he sits back, eyeing her. “What’s with the concern for Wes?”

“Can’t I be concerned about my ex?” she asks.

“Of course you can. But this is more pointed.” He stares at her when she opens her mouth. “And don’t tell me it’s not. I know what pointed questions sound like. Detective, remember?”

She sighs and nods, staring down at her tea. “He came over on Tuesday. Weeded the yard for three hours. The last half hour I don’t think he was even pulling anything up, just on his knees glaring at the ground. I…worry.”

“Ah.” Travis nods a little, shifting. “Tuesday we caught a jumper that turned out to be an actual suicide, not murder. You know how suicides upset him.”

She does. She nods understanding and sips her coffee. “I take it, from the weeding spree he went on, he’s still at the hotel?” she asks, shifting the topic away from that painful subject. She got the answer she needed; she doesn’t need Travis to go into details.

He latches onto the change with relish. “Yeah, still there. I’ve been trying, you know, slipping him ads and stuff, but I think he just throws them away.” He shakes his head ruefully. “The man is hung up.”

Alex quirks her lips, but there’s not much she can say to that.

\---

She’s never asked Wes to get his stuff. She’s never threatened to sell it, or put it into storage, or anything. She just lets it sit in her second bedroom, tucked up in the attic and shoved in the corners of the garage, boxes of books and clothing taking up space. She could, she could do all that and more. Half of the house is still his, but she’s the one living in it; _technically_ she doesn’t have to keep his stuff there anymore. She could say she’s going to get rid of it, could tell him she’ll sell the piano if he doesn’t find a place of his own and move out.

But she never does. She always inquires politely, but she never pushes him to move, never asks him to stop coming by. She just keeps his boxes in her guest room and waits for him to come over—once or twice a month, sometimes more if it’s been a bad week. 

Maybe Wes isn’t the only one hung up.

\---

Travis is sitting with his face in his hands when she walks to the table, and he doesn’t even look up when she sits. “What is it this time?” she asks, settling back with her tea.

_Now_ he looks up, glowering at her. “Do you have any idea what your stupid ex-husband did?”

She shakes her head, prompting Travis to go into a twenty-minute rant about Wes and how irritating he is when he’s going on about food in his car, and Alex has to hide her smile behind her cup.

\---

They always end up talking about Wes. No matter what topic they start out on, the conversation always, inevitably, ends up about Wes. Not just Alex, who has a personal reason to ask about her ex, but Travis too. Travis can go on and on about Wes, and there have been times when Alex has barely been able to get a word in edgewise.

Sometimes she thinks… but no, that’s crazy. Travis is a charmer who goes out with a woman a week. And the women he talks about are never anything like Wes. He’s really not the type.

It’s just…she remembers what it was like, back when she first fell in love, and all she could talk about with her girlfriends was this cute law student she was dating.

\---

She hears them before she sees them, that familiar cadence of their banter cutting through the quiet hubbub of the courthouse. She has a little time before she has to see to her next case, so she ducks down a hall and sees them.

They’re standing at the end of the hall. Wes is in his grey suit, the one that shows off his long lines, and that blue shirt she bought him for his birthday three years ago that brings out his eyes. _It makes you more personable_ , she’d told him, _the jury wants to know you’re an authority, but they want to relate to you too. That’s how you build credibility_. Topping it off is a subtle gold tie that manages to contrast nicely without clashing.

She remembers watching him dress for work, so slick and sharp and put-together, and it makes an ache rise in her throat. She has to swallow hard against the painful knot in her chest.

He’s got his hands on Travis’s neck, smoothly tying Travis’s maroon tie and batting Travis’s hands away. “No, you have to wear the tie, dammit, stop untucking it,” he orders, and Alex’s lips twitch at that annoyed mutter. She remembers that too, hearing him mutter and grouse as he clattered around the kitchen.

“It’s a pain in the ass,” Travis grumbles, allowing his hands to be slapped away for the third time in thirty seconds. “I don’t see why I need a tie, I’m perfectly fine without one.”

“It’s _professional_ , dumbass,” Wes retorts, and the tone of his voice says _My god you’re a baby, I should have just left you in the car_ , and Alex bites her lips to keep from chuckling aloud.

And then she sees it. Sees the way Travis’s eyes soften as they stare at the top of Wes’s bowed head, and she recognizes that look. She used to have it in her eyes, once upon a time.

Her laughter catches in her throat and turns into something painful, and she takes a step back, feeling suddenly like she’s intruding.

She’d thought it was crazy, that Travis couldn’t feel like that for Wes. Wes wasn’t Travis’s type.

Apparently it’s not so crazy after all.

“But _Wes_ ,” Travis whines, cutting through the shock, and Alex takes another step back, fading into the crowd of people in the halls. This is a moment between them, and she can’t help but feel there’s no place for her in that space.

She leaves before they even notice she was there.

\---

_Are you in love with Wes?_

She thinks about bringing it up at their next coffee date. She knows the tricks; if she puts it bluntly and plainly, brings it up out of nowhere and throws it at Travis’s face, then he won’t even have to say a word for her to know the answer.

But that feels like a cheap shot, so she sits there quietly and sips her tea, lost in thought as Travis grumbles about Wes’s obsession with keeping his drawers neat, or something along those lines. It isn’t until she hears her name that she glances up to find him watching her, eyes concerned.

“You okay?” he asks, and she kind of wants to laugh. Is she okay? Her ex-husband’s partner might be in love with him, and she isn’t sure how she’s supposed to feel about that. She has no idea if she’s okay or not.

“I’m fine,” she says smoothly. She’s a lawyer, she knows how to put on a mask. “Are you doing anything Friday night?”

“Nothing in particular.” Travis shrugs. “Why?”

“A client gave me a really nice bottle of wine. I could use some company drinking it.”

There’s silence as he processes, and she sips her coffee to cover up her nerves. This is beyond what they’re doing. Twice a month coffee dates are one thing. Going over to her home for dinner and wine is another.

If it felt illicit to meet up before, then having him over will be positively risqué.

But after a minute that drags on, he nods. “Yeah. That, uh, that sounds good.” He swallows. “Are you inviting Wes too?”

It always comes down to Wes, doesn’t it?

“I wasn’t planning to,” she murmurs evenly, gaze shifting to the side.

His own gaze drops to the table. “Oh. Okay then.”

They’re doing nothing wrong. But somehow it feels like they just made arrangements for an affair.

\---

Friday drags on and on. It’s a relief to go home and kick off her heels and settle down to relax. She’s just sinking onto the couch when someone knocks on the door. Groaning, she drags herself to her feet and pulls open the door.

Travis stands on the doorstep, looking about as bedraggled as she feels. He holds up the pizza box in his hand and smiles tiredly at her. “I bring food?” he questions, like it’s an offering he’s not sure is going to be accepted.

Alex stares for a moment. She completely forgot about their dinner date. But then she recalls the wine and she steps back to let him in. “Put it on the coffee table. I’ll get some paper plates.”

“And the wine.” Travis follows her instructions without even asking. Maybe he can tell how little she wants to do dishes tonight. She’s got to be carrying the same exhaustion on her face that he is. “Don’t forget the wine.”

She returns with paper plates, paper cups, and the wine. The wine is the first thing she opens.

“Long day?” Travis asks, holding out two cups.

“Very.” She starts pouring, for once not even bothering with proper amounts. Hell, she’s pouring two-hundred-dollar wine into paper cups. She’s so beyond caring anymore. “You?”

“Same.” Travis sighs, downing the wine like it’s cheap beer. “Another glass?”

She doesn’t even ask, just pours him seconds.

\---

Half a pizza and most of the wine later, they’re tangled on the couch; she’s leaning against his chest, one of his arms wrapped lazily around her waist, and the other draped across the back of the couch, and their legs fall together to make a pattern—pantyhose, jeans, pantyhose, jeans. Black and blue and black and blue, like bruises that haven’t healed.

And just like every other day, they’re talking about Wes.

“It’s just so _frustrating_ ,” Travis growls, waving one hand negligently. “He’s not stupid, he’s gotta be picking up on the signs, but he still won’t take the plunge. Doesn’t matter if it’s the woman at the coffee shop or the one at reception or the one he meets in the hotel bar, he’s just not _doing_ anything. I don’t get it!”

“He doesn’t let go easily,” she murmurs, fingertips lazily tracing the back of his hand. “You know that.”

He sighs, ruffling her hair. “I know. He’s just…he’s lonely. I want him to get out, meet someone.”

“Really?”

He pauses. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Maybe it’s the alcohol loosening her tongue. Or maybe it’s just that the question has been rolling around her head for days now, it’s so close to the surface and just wants to be _asked_. She leans her head back against his shoulder and sighs. “Do you really want him to go out with someone else?”

A puzzled, confused pause. “Why wouldn’t I?”

_Because you love him_ , she thinks, but she doesn’t say it aloud. She doesn’t want to put it into the air, because then it will be real. For a moment, she doesn’t want it to be.

Instead, she twists in his grip, rolling over onto his chest and staring him face-to-face. “Do you _really_ ,” she murmurs, fingers dancing across his chest, “want him to go out and kiss someone else?”

He searches her face, like he can find the reasoning to her query in her expression. Maybe he can. He’s a detective, after all.

A beat passes. Then another.

Then he says, very softly, “Do you?” and she isn’t sure how this got turned around on her, but she quickly realizes the answer is no. Because, if she’s honest, for a moment she wants it to be the way it was years ago, back when they were together and happy, and she doesn’t want to admit that everything they had together is gone forever.

She reaches for the bottle. “I need more wine.”

He lets her pour him another glass, and she doesn’t answer the question. Neither does he.

Somehow, by the end of the bottle, when he leans in and presses his lips to hers, it all makes sense, in a twisted sort of way. She doesn’t pull away, at least, leans into it and opens her mouth to him and tastes the cold pizza and grapes on his tongue. It doesn’t send a shiver through her, but it doesn’t make her recoil either.

When he pulls away, he studies her, eyes half-lidded with something she doesn’t want to admit, and he whispers, “Is this how he used to kiss you?”

Just as softly, she murmurs back, “Is this how you want him to kiss you?”

Emotion flickers in his eyes, and he leans in again.

She lets him.

\---

It’s not romantic, not in that sense. There’s nothing here. It’s affection, and touch, and chasing away the loneliness and nostalgia, but there’s no love. Not like that. She loves him, as a friend. Nothing more.

This is just flesh and sweat and two bodies moving in sync, the most basic affirmation that they’re not alone in the universe.

After, they collapse together, and they don’t say a word. He drapes his arm over her, and she stares at the ceiling until she falls asleep.

\---

The morning sun blooms bright in the sky, and it makes her head ache. Worse, though, is the guilt she can feel rolling off Travis, seeping off his skin and poisoning the air around them. It makes her nauseous, makes her want to roll away except she’s so comfortable here, pressed against his side, fingers splayed across his chest.

“What’s wrong?” she murmurs, fingertips tickling across his sternum. “You’re thinking awfully heavy for someone who just got laid.”

“I feel like I just cheated,” Travis blurts. He doesn’t mean to, she can see it on his face, and he instantly regrets it, but there’s no taking back words that have been said.

Alex’s fingers stop moving, and she slowly unwinds from his side. She settles next to him, close enough for her to feel his body warmth, but not touching.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he protests quickly, rolling to face her. But he doesn’t reach out to touch her. That’s…telling.

She leans up on her elbow, studies him, and when she smiles, it’s soft, and a little sad. “Yes you did. I can’t blame you. I feel kind of bad being the other woman.”

Travis just blinks at her. “If anyone still cares, Wes and I are not _actually_ gay. Or a couple.”

She snorts. “Of course you are.” Seeing his look, she rolls her eyes. “You may not be sleeping together, but in all the ways that matter, you are. You should feel lucky.” She softens into something melancholy, and aching. “Wes is a wonderful husband.”

Before he can come up with a response (a lie), she climbs out of bed, slowly pulling on a robe and already making plans to down some aspirin in the next few minutes.

“I’ll go make coffee,” she murmurs as she departs, leaving Travis alone in the bed, covered in guilt.

\---

She finally musters up her courage as they’re finishing breakfast, when she’s sipping her third cup of coffee and he’s working through his toast. Staring into the depths of her mug like she can read the future in the coffee drippings, she softly asks, “Do you love him?”

He goes still in her peripherals, just for a moment. Just long enough to show she’s hit home.

Then he laughs, bright and boisterous and much too loud. “Of course I do!” Travis pops the last bit of toast in his mouth and leans back, all bright smile and easy charm. “He’s like my brother. From another, much whiter mother.”

“Travis.” Now she looks up, pins him to his chair with a blank, flat stare. “How long have you been in love with him?”

This is a different question. This is pointed and direct and Travis can’t just shrug it off like the last one. If he lies, she’ll know. And if he tells the truth, she’ll know.

She’s decided, after all, that she wants to know, even if she’s confident in her suspicions.

Travis falters, eyes dropping to his plate, and just like that the answer is in front of her. It only lasts for an instant, and then he’s looking up again, a bright grin on his face. “Come on, what kind of question is that?”

“Travis,” she says, cutting through the bullshit, and his face drops. She reaches over, gently placing her hand over his. “How long?” she asks, softer this time.

His throat bobs; she can see the fight on his face. But it’s already out, and apparently he decides he might as well tell her. “A long time,” he whispers, turning his hand over to grasp hers. The smile he makes is bitter and sad. “Feels like forever.”

She remembers that feeling, too.

She squeezes his hand and gives him a sympathetic smile. “I’ll go make another pot of coffee.”

There’s really nothing else to be said.

\---

After an in-depth discussion that consists of _You want to do this again?_ followed by _I’m willing if you are_ , they decide to continue this arrangement. They’re consenting adults, and the sex was good. They’re just two friends finding comfort in each other; there’s nothing wrong with that. And if they can still be friends the first morning after, then they can still be friends for all the mornings after. If anything changes…

But it won’t. Travis already has feelings aimed another direction, and Alex isn’t going to fall for her ex-husband’s partner. They’re friends with benefits, and they’ll stay that way until they decide to end things.

It’s a good arrangement.

They don’t talk about the one reason to keep from doing this.

Wes isn’t any part of this discussion.

\---

The text comes just after lunch, an almost plaintive query of _Can I come over tonight?_ Alex thinks about her very exciting night of pouring over this case and taps out a response.

_7:00? Bring food._

_Will do_ , Travis texts back, and Alex’s night doesn’t look so dreary.

At 7:03, Travis arrives at her door with a bag from the deli nearby. He gives her a weary smile and wipes his feet.

“Long day?” Alex asks, taking the bag from him.

“The longest,” he sighs, following her into the kitchen. His tone makes her pause in getting out plates, and she gives him a once-over.

“Come on,” she says, putting the bag in the fridge. She holds her hand out to him. “The sandwiches will wait.”

He slides his hand into hers.

\---

In some ways, it’s easier to get together now that they’re sleeping together then it was when it was just coffee twice a month. They don’t have to shuffle their schedules around, they don’t have to figure out how to avoid Wes’s attention with their meetings. Now it’s just a text, and a rendezvous after work, food and the occasional overnight stay.

They don’t meet up all the time and go at it like bunnies. That’s not what this is about. It’s just once or twice a week, when one or both of them have had a long day and don’t want to go home to an empty space. It’s companionship—they talk, they laugh, they hold each other.

They pretend that’s all it is, that Alex isn’t searching for something she lost and Travis isn’t trying to grasp something he never had, and they ignore the way Wes lingers between them like a ghost.

\---

“Wes is acting weird,” Travis says, apropos of nothing (except it’s not nothing because it _always_ circles back to Wes, no matter how the conversation gets turned).

Alex shifts, settling her head on Travis’s chest. “Weird?” she asks, draping an arm over his waist. “Weird how? According to you, Wes is _always_ weird.”

“This is weird even for Wes,” Travis declares, fingers skimming over her shoulder. “He’s nervous. Distracted. Almost got himself shot yesterday.”

She flinches, and he mutters a soft, “Sorry,” into her hair and tucks her close.

“And it feels like he wants to say something,” he continues, “but he never does. And when I ask him what’s wrong, he says it’s nothing, so of course it’s something.” He lets out a frustrated huff. “Sometimes your ex just makes me want to throttle him.”

“You aren’t the only one,” Alex chuckles, and Travis’s chest rumbles beneath her ear as he laughs.

It’s nearly five minutes before she ventures forth with, “Do you think he knows…?”

“About us?” Alex nods, and Travis instantly says, “I doubt it. He’d be a lot more pissed. Right now he’s just sort of nervously worried. And unless I blocked it out, I haven’t gotten the ‘What are you doing with Alex?’ talk yet, so…” He shrugs, or as much as he can while lying down.

Alex hums in her throat and decides to trust Travis on this. He is Wes’s partner.

“I’m sure you’ll figure out what’s going on,” she says softly, confidently. “You know him the best, after all.”

He goes still and quiet. “Even better than you?”

She just smiles sadly and doesn’t respond.

\---

Once upon a time, Alex knew Wes better than anyone. They were best friends and they were in love and the only thing they needed was each other.

Then things changed. Their world fell apart and everything shifted, and when the pieces settled it _seemed_ the same but it wasn’t, not even close. _Wes_ changed, a slow shift that took them both by surprise. The shape of the puzzle remained the same, but the pieces were different, and she didn’t know how they fit together anymore.

By the time she realized she’d been replaced as the person who knew Wes best, it was already too late, and Travis had taken her spot at Wes’s side.

Most days, she can’t even feel jealous. Travis is good for Wes, and while she didn’t know Travis before, she’s guessing the same is true for him. They make each other _better_ , and that’s the most wonderful thing in the world. Most days, all she feels is sad, wishing things were the way they used to be, and her throat fills with a thick, suffocating nostalgia tinged, with bitterness.

She used to feel envious, a hot, burning sensation that would claw at her belly, and she wanted to rip Travis away from Wes and steal him back and _make_ things better. Make things the way they used to be. But she couldn’t then, and she can’t now, because he’s different and she is too and they just don’t _work_ anymore. The envy doesn’t burn the way it used to, not anymore, but it still aches and makes her itch to _do_ something, to change their present into something almost resembling their past.

She tries not to think about it too much.

\---

“Alex!”

She turns and they come up to her, Travis bounding up like an excited puppy, Wes strolling at a more sedate pace. “Wes, Travis,” she says warmly. She gives them a once-over, taking in the suits and ties. “Are you testifying?”

Travis pulls a disgusted face. “In like twenty minutes. You?”

“We’re in recess for a few hours.” She shifts, and she asks them both but she’s looking at Wes when she says, “How are you doing?”

The corner of his mouth curls up, a melancholy, sardonic smile that conveys more than words ever could. “Good,” he says. “Everything is good.”

Alex takes his words at face value; she has to. The lines are drawn and there’s only so much she can ask as an ex. But she’s still a friend, so she takes a breath and makes conversation.

They talk for fifteen minutes, long enough for Wes to start impatiently checking his watch and not-so-subtly elbowing Travis in the ribs. Long enough for Alex to see that Travis is absolutely right—Wes is acting weird.

It’s not obvious, not to a stranger. Wes seems perfectly composed and cordial. But Wes is standing with the two people who know him best, and he shouldn’t be _cordial_ with them.

Wes is strangely reticent in the politest way possible, and Alex doesn’t have the context to even begin to guess why.

“Travis, we have to go,” Wes murmurs, resting his hand on Travis’s arm.

Travis sighs. “ _Fine_ , if we _have_ to.”

“We have to,” Wes says firmly, squeezing his elbow.

Travis groans and dislodges himself. “Bye, Alex,” he says melodramatically, going in for a hug.   
“If I survive, I’ll call you.”

“It’s just court,” Wes says tightly, crossing his arms, and—oh.

_Oh_.

Wes is watching Travis hug her and his face is scowling impatience, but his eyes—Alex knows that look in his eyes. Like someone just ripped out his heart and stomped on it. She saw it after Anthony, saw it after the divorce. And now he’s looking at Travis with the same look in his eyes.

_Oh_.

They just keep surprising her, these two.

She says her goodbyes to Wes and watches them go. Watches, and she sees the way Wes stands close enough that their shoulders brush every other step, sees how Travis absently angles his body towards Wes.

Alex watches them go, and her throat feels tight.

\---

Suddenly things make a lot more sense. Couple’s therapy, for one, why Wes was willing to go for Travis and not to fight for her. She wonders if he even knew it, back then, or if he was just going with his gut and worked out the rest later. Or maybe he doesn’t even realize what he feels—he’s always been good at denying things even to himself, her Wesley.

He’s clearly moved on. He just hasn’t moved forward.

\---

She never asked Wes to get his stuff.

\---

It hits her as she crests, a picture that snaps into perfect clarity in the midst of an orgasmic haze. She gasps, throws her head back as the realization washes over her.

They’re all playing it safe, all three of them.

Wes is holding back, not willing to break the status quo, not willing to chance a shift in his relationship with Travis. He won’t take that extra step because he’s never been good at taking risks, her Wesley. Instead, he goes over every possible outcome in his mind and then he fixates on the worst possible one and he ends up not going anywhere _just in case_.

Travis is afraid. Of commitment, of love, she’s not sure. But it’s obvious, isn’t it? He jumps from woman to woman, always slipping away when things get serious, and now he’s sleeping with a woman he knows he can’t have. The one person he’s committed anything to is the one person he’s certain he can never be with, so he doesn’t even try.

And Alex…Alex just doesn’t want to let go. Because if she moves on, if she fully commits to another person, then she has to admit that things will never be the way they were, when she had a fairy tale romance with a wonderful, perfect husband. She doesn’t truly believe that they’ll ever get back together; it simply won’t work. But there’s still a part of her that hopes, even as she knows it’s hopeless, and in the end she can’t quite let go.

They’ll never do anything about it, she realizes later, watching the fan spin on the ceiling. Her two stubborn boys will never make a move, because they’re both too afraid to risk it all.

One of them is going to have to let go, and they’ll never do it.

Alex closes her eyes.

\---

It’s not the hardest decision she’s ever made in her life. It’s not the most painful.

It still hurts.

\---

“We should get together,” she says during their next lunch.

“Sure,” Travis says without hesitation. “When?”

Alex takes a breath, fortifies herself, and says, “Actually, I was thinking all three of us. You know. Like we used to.”

His fork pauses halfway to his mouth. “Are…are you sure?”

Is she sure she wants to do this? No. No, she’s not sure she wants to do this at all.

Is this necessary?

Absolutely.

She smiles. “Definitely. It’ll be fun.”

“Fun is…one word for it.” _Awkward_ is another, and she can see the thought on his face. They haven’t been together, all three of them, since long before the divorce. They all have too much baggage for things to be the same between them.

Alex isn’t looking for things to be the _same_. That’s not going to happen, ever again. She’s accepted that, and she’s going to move on if it kills her.

She’s just looking for things to change.

“I think it’ll be fun,” she persists.

He rolls his eyes, chewing thoughtfully, staring at her like he can suss out her motivations here. But Alex is a lawyer, and she knows how to keep her thoughts to herself, so all she does is smile and wait for his answer.

Finally, he asks, words rolling stilted off his tongue, “Won’t it be awkward? Because of _this?_ ” And the way he waves his fork between them is a clear indication of _this_ , but Alex just shakes her head.

“It’ll be fine. Promise.” She grins, nudges his ankle with her foot. “Come on, you know you want to…”

He’s still staring at her, but Alex is wearing her game face and she knows he can’t see a thing. When he sighs, she knows she’s won.

“I’ll talk to him.”

\---

She’s studying a brief when Travis calls, with just two words. “We’re in.”

She smiles a little. “How hard was it to get him to agree?”

“You don’t even want to know,” Travis sighs. “I swear, it’s like he thinks I don’t know he’s lying. ‘Oh, sorry, I’m busy’,” he chirps in a falsetto that is supposed to somehow be Wes’s lying voice. “Like, no you’re _not_ , dude, you never have _anything_ going on.”

Alex chuckles and shakes her head and thinks that they are just so perfect for each other. How did she miss it before?

(Because she wasn’t _looking_ before.)

“But yeah,” Travis continues, “I got him to say yes. Give us a date and a time and we’ll be there, even if I have to cuff him and drag him along. Barring any unforeseen circumstances, of course.”

“Sounds good.” She tells them when to come, and when she hangs up, the smile on her lips is a little twisted and bittersweet.

After this, everything is going to change.

\---

Unsurprisingly, they show up fifteen minutes early, because Wes believes in punctuality and having a cushion. Alex, having prepared for this, lets them in and starts pouring wine. Soften them up, that’s the key here. Get them relaxed, and then hit them with everything. It’s always worked in the past.

To her benefit, it’s been a good day for them. Wes and Travis cracked a case, which puts them in a good mood, and even though things are a little stiff, once the wine starts flowing and they get to talking, the tensions ease. 

By the time they get their plates and settle down to eat, it’s almost like nothing changed at all. Just another dinner party with Wes and Alex and Travis. 

(If she closes her eyes it’s almost like—)

Except…

Except if they don’t talk, if they let the silence linger, then it turns tense, and it never used to do that. So they keep talking, filling the air with noise because that’s less painful then the quiet.

It almost hurts, how different things are now. Alex wishes…

No. She can’t continue to linger in the past and could-have-beens. She has to move forward.

They all do.

\---

“I’m happy for you, you know,” Wes says after dinner, when they’re all lounging in the living room with wine in hand. Alex is feeling delightfully tipsy, and judging from how the boys have matched her drink for drink, they’re probably at about the same place she is.

The alcohol doesn’t help her figure out what Wes is talking about in the slightest. She shares a puzzled look with Travis.

“What are you talking about, man?” Travis asks with a frown. He genuinely has no idea what Wes is aiming at here.

But Wes isn’t looking at either of them, and there’s a tightness to his jaw that Alex recognizes, and she suddenly has an inkling of what it might be.

Wes carefully sets his glass on the coffee table and takes a breath. “I’m glad you are…that you’re happy with each other. If there’s anyone I’d be okay with Alex being with…not—not that you need my permission!” he adds quickly, directed towards Alex. “You’re perfectly capable of—of dating whoever you want, I’m okay with that, and—and I have no say and I _know_ that. I know. But Travis is…” He swallows hard and looks back at the table. “Travis is a better choice than most.”

She can feel Travis going stiff in horror the longer Wes speaks, and she takes a sip of her wine to hide her expression. This isn’t going exactly how she expected—she never counted on _Wes_ making the first move—but this was where this night was always headed, so she can’t complain.

(She’s a lawyer. The first rule is to never show your full hand at the start of the game.)

Wes is still talking, hands twisting that way he does, and Alex almost wants to go root around her kitchen and find him Purell. She doesn’t.

“I mean, I can understand why you wouldn’t tell me, I don’t exactly have a—a great _history_ with this kind of thing, but I…this isn’t…it’s _okay_. I’m not going to be _mad_ , so you don’t have to hide anything anymore.”

“How did you…?” Travis croaks out, like there’s a rock in his throat blocking the words.

Wes shrugs. “I saw you, once, at a café, and it was obvious you were… I’m a detective, Travis, it wasn’t hard to figure out.” He laughs, but the sound is bitter and bleak, like all the joy has been drained out of him. It’s a sound that makes Alex’s chest ache, and she wants to reach out and hold him, explain everything and tell him it’s all going to be alright.

Not yet, not just yet.

Wes sighs, rising from his seat. “Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say. I should, uh, I should leave the night to you two.” Still without looking at either of them, he heads towards the door.

Travis doesn’t move. He sits there, mouth open, wide-eyed and stunned like he’s just been socked in the jaw. Alex leans over, nudges his leg with her foot, and it takes a moment but he eventually blinks and looks at her. She makes a sharp motion with her head towards Wes, portraying as much _What are you still sitting here for you idiot?_ on her face as she can.

As much as she wants to jump up and grab Wes and haul him back to his seat, she can’t. Because then it would be her and Wes, and that would just be the same thing over again and…and it would simply perpetuate the cycle. She’s trying to _break_ it, here.

To his credit, Travis hesitates only a second before he leaps up. “Wes, wait!” he hollers, disappearing into the hall, and Alex takes a sip of her wine and a long deep breath to fortify herself.

She doesn’t hear any yelling or fighting, and she definitely didn’t hear the door open and close, so when she deems it’s been long enough, she climbs to her feet and makes her way over. She pauses in the doorway, and something in her chest goes kind of tight and relaxes all at once.

They look good together. They’ve always looked good together, two beautiful men standing side-by-side, complimenting each other in all the ways they’re opposites. Travis dark, Wes light, one rough and down-to-earth, one polished and prim. They compliment each other because they’re so different, and opposites attract. Even she remembers that much from high school science.

(She and Wes had always been too similar. It worked for a long time, until things start changing, and then they just didn’t fit together.

She can’t even be mad anymore.)

They look good together now, pressed against the back of the door, mouths latched onto one another like—like magnets. Travis has one hand clenched in Wes’s suit, like he grabbed the blonde and turned him and forgot to take his hand away, and the other is wrapped around the back of Wes’s head, pulling him in. But it’s not a one-sided battle, and Wes is giving as good as he gets, fists wrapped in Travis’s jacket and dragging him against himself.

They cling to each other like one of them will float away if the other lets go, and it’s heartbreakingly beautiful in the best way.

They don’t even notice her when they pull apart, not right away. Travis barely shifts, gasping for air as he presses his forehead against Wes’s. “Don’t go,” he begs, “don’t go, please don’t go.”

Wes’s fingers spasm, eyes shifting towards the living room. “But you—”

He sees her in the doorway, and all the color drains from his face.

That’s her cue, she thinks, stepping forward as Travis turns. Smiling gently, she reaches out, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “You don’t have to go,” she murmurs, and she’s looking at Wes but the words are aimed at both of them. “You can stay.”

It’s as blatant an invitation as she can make it without actually saying the words, and both their eyes widen. “Really?” Wes asks, voice cracking in the middle.

“Really?” Travis asks in a completely different tone.

Alex just slides her hands down, wrapping her fingers around both of theirs, one of her boys in each hand. “Yes.” And it’s an answer to both of them, an answer and a question and an invitation wrapped into one syllable.

They look at her. They look at one another.

When Wes slowly slides his hand into Travis’s, and Travis turns to her, she just holds their hands and leads them upstairs.

\---

(This is the beginning.)

(This is also the end.)

\---

It’s a dance, she thinks as clothes shush to the floor. A dance they all know, but the steps are different with three people. There’s some awkward fumbling, and whispered apologies as one of them knees another in the ribs. Hesitation on where to put hands, who to touch, how to start.

But then something clicks, and they start to understand the rhythm, how to move together without leaving anyone out. There are three of them, but that doesn’t mean _two plus one_ , it means _one plus one plus one_ , three sides making a triangle, each of them supporting and being supported.

She nuzzles Travis’s shoulder, and Travis kisses the corner of Wes’s mouth, and Wes’s hand slides up her thigh, and for right now, it’s the most perfect thing in the world.

It won’t last forever. She’s knows that. She couldn’t handle being in a relationship with one cop, let alone two, and the boys have always gravitated towards one another, again and again and again. She and Travis had nothing beyond sex and comfort and reminiscing, and she and Wes will never be what they were.

But for right now, she has both her boys again, and if she closes her eyes, then everything is as it should be—and for right now, that’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> There was a prompt on the LJ kink meme asking for a happy/fluffy post-divorce poly fic. In the end, it kind of missed the mark on happy and turned out more bittersweet. And I’m pretty sure it sort of doesn’t qualify exactly as poly either... So…yeah. I just couldn’t see happy post-divorce poly happening, not the way the characters are now, so it ended up this sort of bittersweet…I don’t even know.
> 
> I also wanted to take the chance to write a story from Alex’s POV, because Alex is an amazing character who doesn’t get enough love, and also it fit better to have a character looking at the boys from the outside, so that’s how that happened.


End file.
